The Space Between (The Book of Phoenix) Read Online Free PDF Page B

She’d kept her overhead light on for the entire flight as she flipped through magazine after magazine, not helping my sleep pursuit at all.
    I glanced over at her and became intrigued with the look on her face, then another cluck of her tongue. Maybe she wasn’t annoyed at me. I stole a glance at what had her panties in a bunch, and my jaw dropped. I bolted upright in my seat and snatched the magazine right out of her hands.
    “Excusé moi?” the woman snapped, but I ignored her.
    My full attention had been captured by the magazine ad depicting a perfectly sculpted masculine body clad only in underwear—the defined pecs, the washboard abs, the thick legs, the only part covered .... But even all this didn’t captivate me like the face did. Because I knew that face. I’d spent an hour at the airport looking into those same blue eyes. The tats were gone, probably airbrushed out, but I had no doubt. I burst into a fit of giggles. Jeric was a model. And not just any model. An underwear model. I’d had coffee with a freakin’ international male model!
    A few people around me made grunts of irritation as they shifted in their seats, annoyed my laughter awoke them. My conscience twanged with the old feeling of caring what other people thought, and the only reason I didn’t apologize was because I didn’t want to disturb them any further. The closer I came to home, the more Mama’s lessons were returning.
    I sat back and held the magazine toward the lady next to me, who’d been staring at me this whole time.
    “No, no. You keep,” she said, looking at me as though afraid I might be a little off my rocker, as Mira would say. She probably thought me to be some kind of perv the way I had stared at the nearly naked man on the page. With a huff, she pulled another magazine out of the pocket on the seat in front of me. Apparently she’d already been through the ones in her own pocket. At least now she stopped glaring at me.
    I studied the picture of Jeric in his underwear and now that the initial shock had worn off, embarrassment overcame me. A male model. On the pages of a French fashion magazine. And most of our conversation had centered on his deafness, his disability. I was such an idiot.
    And now glad I would never see him again.

    * * *

    I should have known something was off with Uncle Theo’s house the moment the cab drove up, but I was too focused on paying the driver and unloading my bags. The two-story, white house was nothing special, but it was home, for the most part. I paid little attention to the overgrown flowerbeds and too-tall grass, much worse than I’d expected. I’d have to deal with them soon enough. Right now, I wanted to see Uncle Theo and then my bed.
    I went around to the side door that entered into the mudroom and then the kitchen, dug my keys out of my bag and selected the one for the house.
    The key refused to enter the lock.
    Feeling disoriented, I held the key up to eye level and stared at it for a long moment, then studied the lock. The key would never fit, and being the only brass key on my ring, I knew I’d selected the right one. What used to be the right one, anyway. What the hell? Did Uncle Theo change the locks on me? The thought was ridiculous. Why would he do such a thing?
    I tapped my knuckles against the glass pane of the door, hoping Mira was there, because Uncle Theo would never hear me. When she didn’t come, I knocked harder, now on the wooden part of the door. I pressed my face against the glass to see if Mira’s gray-haired, plump body was making its way to the back door.
    What I saw was all wrong.
    The mudroom appeared to be completely cleared out—no brooms and mops in the corner, no cleaning bottles, soaps and detergents on the shelves by the washing machine. In fact, no washing machine or dryer at all. The maroon area rug no longer lay on the floor. I tilted my head to get a better view of the kitchen. All you could normally see would be the wooden table and chairs